


Cuts and Bruises

by surena_13



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surena_13/pseuds/surena_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 3x09 Unfinished Business, Laura cleans Bill up after his fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuts and Bruises

**Cuts and Bruises**

His head pounds, the ghost of the Chief’s punches still wash over his face, his body. But Bill feels relieved. It wasn’t retribution. For that it wasn’t nearly enough but at least someone got payback for a wrong decision he made as Admiral of half a fleet. He deserved every punch he got and more. But for now the bruises that start to form, the blood that trickles down his face and on his tanks are enough to remind him to stay sharp.

 

The sound of heels clicking on the deck makes him raise his head, the movement followed by a sharp stab of pain. The President, no, Laura is walking towards him, a bowl of clear water in her hand, a towel thrown over her shoulder. Her jacket is gone and sleeves of her blouse are rolled up. Putting the bowl on the table, she sinks down beside him, kicking off her shoes.

 

“You’re a frakking idiot,” she whispers, putting her fingers under his chin to look at the extent of his injuries. He tries to give her some semblance of a smile, but Laura isn’t impressed. She just fishes a washing cloth out of the bowl, wringing it.

 

He hisses when she presses the cool cloth against his temple, gently washing away some of the blood, her left hand resting against his relatively undamaged cheek. Her touch is soft, caring and she is careful of his bruises and wounds as she cleans his face. They haven’t been this close, this casually intimate since New Caprica. Laura pulls back, the once white cloth now crimson. Her hands tremble a little, barely noticeable when she puts the cloth back in the bowl, staining the water red.

 

Putting the cloth to his face again, she cleans the rest of his face, his ear, the few traces of blood on his throat. Her free hand rests on his chest now, so softly he barely feels it’s there. Bill places his hand on hers, taking hold of it. Laura’s movements still for a moment, but then she continues. Her green eyes anywhere but his eyes. She does everything to avoid his gaze.

 

“Laura, look at me.” She purposely ignores him as she lets the cloth fall in the bowl and her hands in her lap. Her palms are still covered in water mixed with his blood. A silence surrounds them, it’s awkward and painful. Bill reaches for the towel on her shoulder and starts to dry off her hands, leaving red smudges on the white fabric, until her hands are clean.

 

“Idiot,” Laura says again, finally looking up at him as she takes off her glasses.

 

“I thought you said you liked a good fight.”

 

“A good fight. Not some guilt wrecked admiral looking for a way to be punished, publicly,” she snaps, getting up from the couch, putting her glasses back on her nose before crossing her arms in front of her chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” he offers.

 

“Bullshit, you’re not sorry. If anything you’re feeling better. You wanted to be beaten up because you think people blame you for what happened on New Caprica. Well guess what. It was as much your fault as it was mine.”

 

“Laura - -”

 

Don’t,” she says sharply, shooting him a glare from the other side of the room, her green eyes ablaze behind her glasses with something she normally reserved for Gaius Baltar. “It’s pitiful to see you wallow in your guilt like some washed up failure getting beaten up by your deck chief. It’s pathetic and beneath you.”

 

Bill tries to remember the last time he saw this angry and finds that he can’t. Laura Roslin never got enraged. She showed a cool, distant hatred for some before sending them out the airlock without even blinking. If someone crossed, she calmly planned her revenge or like with Admiral Cain, an assassination. But she did not show her anger. Until now.

 

Her hands are balled into tight fists, her knuckles turning white with the effort. Her shoulders are tense and her jaw is clenched. But her eyes are the worst. They’re so sad, angry, worried. Removing her glasses, she pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes briefly before opening them and giving him a pointed stare, the green orbs unguarded without a black frame and glass.

 

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” she asks finally. He had been bracing himself for another tirade, for her anger to sweep over him. Instead a soft, defeated tone met him, one that hurts more than her insults ever could. She was right. He was a frakking idiot. He had been thinking about himself and his own feelings, not once considering what she might think, that his quest for retribution could hurt her.

 

“I didn’t know that was an option,” he tries, knowing it’s bullshit. But she shakes her head, her curls shifting as her head moves.

 

“Don’t lie to me, Bill. You know very well that I am always there for you.”

 

“I know. I didn’t want to burden you with my troubles.” She stays silent after his confession, breaking the eye contact to look down at the floor as she bites her bottom lip, clutching her glasses. Bill patiently waits for her talk. Slowly she walks back towards to couch and sits down next to him.

 

“You need to stop seeing me as weak and vulnerable,” she says, looking up at him, her eyes focusing on his.

 

“I don’t see you - -“

 

“Yes, you do. You may not realize it, but you do. I’m not weak, Bill. I survived the genocide, Kobol, cancer, New Caprica. I survived it all. And I’m here, now, with you,” she says softly, covering his hand with her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

 

She smiles at him, that smile that he hasn’t seen since New Caprica, since that night they lay stoned under the stars when her warm body had curled around his as if it was normal for them to do this. Nothing had felt more natural than her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest. And then the Cylons came and she was different the next time he saw her, harder, colder, distant.

 

“I think that you’re human, but I don’t think you’re weak,” Bill states. He needs her to know he could never see her as weak. He saw her talk down a terrorist only hours after she beat cancer, order the abortion of Hera whiles she was standing on the brink of death.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You burden yourself with all the problems in the fleet, with guilt for not having stolen the elections and with that failing to prevent the Occupation. I couldn’t dump my problems with that. This was easier.”

 

“But it doesn’t solve anything, Bill. You need to talk about it. The fleet needs an Admiral who can make decisions without being influenced by guilt. The people need you. I need you.” Bill looks at their joined hands and thinks of all the time he wasted every time he was with her and didn’t tell her how much he needed her, how much he relied on her being by his side.

 

“I’ll talk to you, but not today, okay?” he says, placing his other hand over Laura’s. “But I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

 

“Good,” she replies softly, places one hand on his shoulder, leans in and kisses his cheek. Careful of the bruise that’s forming, she lightly brushes her lips against his skin. He inhales, her unique scent enveloping him. It’s so warm and like her. He doesn’t know how he got by without her for four months. When Laura pulls back, there’s a small, vulnerable smile playing on her lips.

 

She looks so beautiful, leaning over him, the light shining in her hair, making it look so fiery while her expression is soft and unguarded. It’s as if with her glasses she took off the mask she permanently wears as President.

 

“I have to go,” she says and slides her glasses back on her nose. She rolls down her sleeves, steps into her shoes and puts her blazer on. He watches her, wishing she didn’t have to go and could just stay here with him. Simply her presence makes him feel at home unlike anyone else ever has. “Will you be alright?”

 

“Yeah, go and be our President. I’ll be fine.” For a brief moment concern flashes over her face, but it’s gone before he could fully see it. Laura nods and smiles before turning away from him and walking out of his quarters, leaving him alone, the memory of her touch still lingering on his skin. Bill can’t help but wonder if Laura will ever know how much she means to him. 


End file.
